


Bundles Of Something

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Nanny Knows Best [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Banter, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Francis and Nanny meet Warlock.





	Bundles Of Something

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale hesitated in the doorway, watching the way the rocking chair moved beside the window. It was a dreadfully nice rocking chair. Crowley had gotten the butler to order it in. “You’ll track mud on my carpets.”

“ _Your_ carpets, is it, Nanny?”

“You are entering my _domain_ , Brother Francis,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale met his gaze in the mirror on the wall, or at least met his sunglass lenses. “I should take care you not overstep.”

“Shan’t,” Aziraphale replied, but he held up the bouquet of flowers in his hands, and he watched Crowley’s dark-painted lips shift into the slightest of smiles as Aziraphale set the bouquet on the chest of drawers, so that Crowley could put them in a vase. He stood at Crowley’s shoulder, then, looking down at the little baby in his arms. 

Warlock was so _small_ , even with the thickness of his swaddling clothes around them, and against Crowley’s breast he slept soundly, and Aziraphale couldn’t really envision it, this tiny little thing going on to rend the world in twain.

“You’re very good with him,” Aziraphale murmured.

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” Crowley replied, and he brushed his thumb gently over Warlock’s cheek. “Me, I’m bad with him. Dreadfully bad. The staff are going to think you’re trying to get me into bed with you, with those flowers.”

“Well, I’m _not_ ,” Aziraphale muttered, flushing.

“Good,” Crowley said, and he kept rocking with Warlock in his arms, slow, rhythmic. “Would you like to hold him?”

“May I?”

“No.”

Aziraphale, despite himself, laughed, a breathless little sound, and Crowley held Warlock out to him, letting Aziraphale take the darling thing in his arms. Darling thing... the _Antichrist_. But so small, now, and so innocent, so potentially Good as much as potentially Bad...

“Isn’t he sweet?” Aziraphale asked.

“No,” Crowley murmured. “But for now... He’s ours.”


End file.
